Halloween: Overcoming The Rage
by The Cynical Flower Girl
Summary: This is the story of Rosalyn McLeod, a Haddonfield journalist following the Myers murders as she sinks into the darkness of insanity that haunts her past. This is MY way of ending this awesome series, but be warned it's probably not what you expect.
1. Chapter 1

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Halloween 9: Overcoming The Rage

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"It will destroy you, too, one day Michael- this rage which drives you. You think if you kill them all it will go away? It won't. You have to fight it in the place where it's strongest, where it all began, if you want to get rid of this rage..."

~Dr. Sam Loomis (R.I.P.), Halloween 5

~*~

Chapter 1

Haddonfield, Illinois

Halloween Night

2002

Another series of brutal murders. For years this misfortune had plagued the area and for the most part the shock had worn off, but that didn't make it any less devastating to the sleepy little town. At first glance it seemed like a modern-day Pleasantville. Children rode their bikes to school, their fathers watered their front lawns, old ladies gossiped and chattered on about the good old days- before all of this, and before Michael.

~*~

The wind blew cold as reporters and cameramen mobbed the infamous house located at 45 Lampkin Lane- the Myers house. Among these was Rosalyn McLeod, a Haddonfield journalist taking notes while the more aggressive reporters begged for details. There had been survivors- two this time, a woman and a man. Rosalyn winced as she watched the man, the one called Freddie, knock out a cameraman. 

_That had to hurt_, she thought. _That's why I stay in the back_. Rosalyn recorded the incident and brushed back a lock of her long, jet-black hair. No matter how tight she tied it, there were always a couple loose strands that escaped. Another gust of wind blew more hair into her face. She pushed it back again, revealing a pair of deep green eyes set in a slender face. Her eyes were the only discernable Irish thing about her even though she was virtually pure blood. With her slim physique and dark olive skin, Rosalyn didn't consider herself that bad off for 45.

Another body was wheeled out in a body bag. Rosalyn watched the survivors and how they reacted when the medics unzipped the bag. Sara- the girl- seemed relieved, but Freddie was cracking jokes. _How obnoxious_. Rosalyn narrowed her eyes. She moved a bit closer and stood on her toes to get a better look at the body on the stretcher. She felt a pang in her stomach when she saw how bad it was. He was indeed "crispy," as Freddie had put it. Parts of the mask had melted to his face. The skin she could see was burned black and flaking. 

Rosalyn had to turn away. _But he isn't dead_, a nagging voice in the back of her head said. She'd been following these stories throughout her entire career and she knew better than to just idly assume Michael was dead whenever he turned up missing. Plus, she had connections. She had inside information. She had Tom Doyle. Tommy had encountered the enigmatic killer not once, but twice in his life. The first time he'd been a child back in 1978 being watched by none other than Laurie Strode. He and Lindsay Wallace, a neighbor girl, escaped and weren't harmed. The event stayed with Tommy his entire life until his second encounter in 1995. This time he'd been ready. He'd learned things about Michael no one knew, and he used it to his advantage. But that's why Rosalyn kept Tommy around. He knew things about Michael. He could help her. 

The medics began loading the body into the Coroner's van. Rosalyn watched. No, Michael wasn't dead. This had simply been his Homecoming- and he'd been King of the Ball. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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What a beautiful morning, Rosalyn thought as she sat down to her kitchen table. She sipped her orange juice and leafed through the paper. Almost a year had passed since that fateful webcast at the Myers house and Halloween was once again creeping up on Haddonfield.

Rosalyn smiled when she saw that the featured article was hers- a story on charity workers restoring some sculptures that had been defaced by some boisterous teenagers in the park. It was, Rosalyn realized, the worst thing to happen to this town since the murders. She smiled. Haddonfield would be an awfully boring place without Michael. She often thought about that night. She'd been so close she could have reached out and touched him. She hadn't been surprised in the least to hear that Michael had escaped from the morgue and briefly wondered if he'd even been unconscious at all.

Rosalyn shrugged. Oh well, it didn't matter now. Those people weren't important. They'd just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they were long gone and, if they knew what was good for them, they'd stay that way. She cleared the table and got ready to go to work. 

~*~

"Stay out of his way, Ros." Tommy's tone was grave. Tommy and Rosalyn almost always met at the same little cafe for lunch, but today was different. Rosalyn seemed a little edgy. Maybe not so much edgy as anxious. It was hard to explain, but she was acting strange and Tommy had a hunch that it had something to do with Michael and Halloween coming up.

"You haven't," Rosalyn retorted. 

Tommy was quick to defend himself. "You don't understand. I have my reasons."

"Me too!"

"Yeah but, I've seen him in action Ros. I have a history with him." Tommy stopped and bit his lip, wishing he'd thought before he spoke just this once- or at least used a better word other than _history_. Considering Rosalyn's history, he had nothing to complain about.

"So have I," Rosalyn said quietly. She looked up at Tommy. "I've followed him all my life, Tom. I'm not about to give up now."

Tommy let out his breath and smiled weakly. "Well it seems you and I are on about the same page then."

"Haven't I been telling you that for years?"

"Hmm- oh, almost forgot." Tommy dug around in his jacket pocket. "Here," he said, holding out a small pouch on a string. 

Rosalyn took it and opened it. "What is it?" She tipped the pouch and out spilled seven round stones engraved with runic characters. One of these she recognized as the Thorn rune. 

"It's a protection talisman. It will keep you safe."

"Will it protect me from Michael?" Rosalyn rolled the stones around in her hands, regarding them curiously. 

Tommy sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately. "It doesn't work like that and you know it."

"But it's _supposed_ to work," Rosalyn protested.

"I thought so but-"

"Then why doesn't it work on Michael?"

"Ros," Tommy started tiredly. "Just let him go. Think of his family- what those poor people would do to have nothing to do with him. You don't know how lucky you are."

"Don't dodge," Rosalyn warned. 

"I'm not dodging."

"You are too dodging!"

"That was not dodging!"

"It _so_ was dodging!"

Rosalyn caught a smile starting on Tommy's face and couldn't help grinning with satisfaction. I win, she thought triumphantly.

"Fine Ros," Tommy went back to being serious. "But if I tell you, do you promise you'll stop chasing after this monster?"

"He's not a monster! The curse is making him do these terrible things!"

"He's not human anymore. When Dr. Loomis was alive he spent years trying to convince people of the fact that whatever was inside of him killed any trace of humanity. Michael Myers is dead, Rosalyn. I'm sorry. The only thing left is- a monster." Tommy's voice hardened. "Now, promise me."

Rosalyn crossed her fingers behind her back. "I promise," she said with mock reluctance. 

Tommy took a deep breath. "That night, back in 1995, I thought I could stop Michael. I tried a rune combination- like the talisman I just gave you- and at first I thought it worked. But something about it wasn't right. It didn't feel right, you know? I got Kara, Danny and Steven out but still Michael didn't come after us. Instead he decided to go- " Tommy's voice cracked. "I should have told Dr. Loomis to come with us. In the morning they found him with one of those marks on his wrist. The coroner's report said it was heart failure, but it wasn't. It was- something else." Tommy paused a minute and brushed a tear away angrily. 

He looked at Rosalyn. "Something was wrong. Something went wrong with the curse. Dr. Wynn and his goddamned cult! They didn't know. They had no idea how powerful he had become. And that beast- that _thing_ just played along. As far as I know, Wynn dissolved the rest of the cult. God knows where he is now. He could be dead too for all I know- or _care_."

Tommy stared at the floor. "Is that good enough for you, Ros?" He still didn't look up. "It's all I know."

Rosalyn reached out and put her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry Tom, I shouldn't have dragged it out of you like that. I didn't realize it would be so painful."

Tommy just shook his head. 

Rosalyn thought. "Is there any cure for the curse? Like some way to break it? He must have some weakness."

Tommy shook his head. "I tried that. He's too powerful. His only purpose is to terminate his family line, and nothing will stop him until he completes his task. 

"What happens when- _if _he does?"

"I don't know," Tommy shrugged. "I guess he would lose his power and be free of the curse." He watched Rosalyn take this all in and realized he'd said too much. She was one of his best friends, but she was obsessive and, well- unstable.

"Now will you listen to me and stay away from him?"

"I told you I would," she smiled. _Phony_, Tommy thought.

"All right," Tommy said, standing up and pushing in his chair. "I gotta go. Talk to you later?"

"Huh? Oh, sure." Rosalyn looked up and smiled at him. "Bye, Tom. Thanks."

Tommy turned to leave. Thanks for what? As he pushed the door and stepped out into the dreary rain, Tommy knew that Rosalyn was not going to keep her word.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

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A little girl in a nightgown pads silently down a hallway of the institution. It's the middle of the night and the hallways are only dimly lit, but she still finds the room she's looking for. Clutching her teddy bear in one hand, she reaches up with the other and opens the door. She slips in quietly, closing the door just as a nurse turns the corner. 

The little girl turns from the door. Bright moonlight shines through the window and onto a boy lying in bed. He and the girl seem to be around the same age.

He's not sleeping, the little girl thinks to herself. She smiles. He never sleeps when I come to see him. She moves closer to the bed and switches on the light. The boy's eyes open slowly.

"Hi Michael," the little girl whispers.

The boy says nothing, but she's used to that. She sits on the edge of the bed and begins humming softly. "My mommy used to sing that to me when I couldn't sleep." Michael still doesn't say anything. He just closes his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. 

"Rosalyn!" The little girl jumps at the sound of her name. She looks up and sees an angry nurse at the door.

"Uh-oh." She hops off the bed, hanging her head, and shuts the light off. Before she leaves she whispers, "Goodnight Michael. I'll be back tomorrow."

"You've got to stop this, young lady. Rules are rules and they're there for a reason," the nurse scolds as she leads Rosalyn back to her own room. "Don't make us put a lock on your door again."

"Why can't I visit Michael?"

"You can, just not in the middle of the night!" The nurse laughs as they reach Rosalyn's door.

Rosalyn pouts. "They won't let me see him in the daytime either." She looks up at the nurse. "Why can't he come outside and play with us?"

The nurse hesitates. "Well- Michael did something very bad, and he has to stay in his room until his mommy says he can come out."

Rosalyn crawled back into bed. "I think his mommy is mean."

~*~

Jostled awake by the alarm clock, Rosalyn yawned. A faint memory of her dream made her smile. Another treat from her subconscious- memories from when she herself had been a patient at the Smith Grove Sanitarium. 

She hadn't been crazy- not really. Doctors, nurses, and even her own parents felt the need to reassure her of this often. Perhaps in her parents' case it was more to reassure themselves. But if she wasn't crazy, then why had she grown up in an institution? The doctor's answer to this was that her problem was chronic and if she ever wanted to get out of there she had to start working with the staff. She hadn't liked the staff. They were pushy and domineering and had kept her from her friends. 

_Especially Michael_, she thought bitterly.

She'd been intrigued by Michael ever since he was first brought to Smith's Grove. He never spoke to anyone or played with the other boys and girls. He barely ever left his room. Rosalyn first thought he was just shy and made a point to visit him often. But soon she realized that he was not shy. He seemed disinterested at the most. And there was something about him- just a feeling when you were with him. It was impossible to explain- almost electric.

Rosalyn grew accustomed to his silence and usually just chattered on about her day and what was going on in the outside world. Her doctor had thought it was great therapy for the both of them since Rosalyn had never been so open with anyone.

Michael's doctor thought different. He'd always frightened Rosalyn with his ravings about monsters and evil. He ordered that Michael have no visitors unless he himself was present. 

So, Rosalyn snuck out to see him at night. Even when they were teenagers she continued to see him almost every night up until he broke out.

She would never forget that night.

She remembered being gently shaken awake, and the shock when she recognized the intense black eyes looking down on her. When he saw she was awake, Michael straightened and started for the door. Rosalyn followed, perplexed as to why he would be active after so long. 

She watched him herd the other patients out of their rooms, setting them free into the night. When they got outside, Rosalyn shivered as she breathed in the chilly October air. 

Michael was already on the move and Rosalyn hurried to catch up with him. When she reached him, she took his hand. Michael stopped short. He sat motionless for a second, then looked down at their hands. He looked back up.

She searched his face, trying to understand- to read his impossibly expressionless features. Finally it dawned on her and her heart sank. She couldn't go with him. A tear ran down her cheek as she let go of his hand. Michael turned his head a bit to one side as she brushed it away. Then, suddenly he seemed to snap out of it. Rosalyn watched him as he reached the chain-link fence and scaled it. She ran to the fence and watched him slip silently into the shadows. 

That was the last time she'd been close to him. Now the closest she got was her stories, continued research, and Tommy.

But Tommy has all the answers, Rosalyn thought as she slipped into the shower. She smiled to herself, recalling her last conversation with Tom at the cafe. She finally knew how to help Michael. Now all she had to do was find him.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

_First order of business, find Steven Lloyd_, Rosalyn thought. If and when she found Michael, she would have to come up with something to catch his attention. Steven was perfect. _Poor boy. How old would he be now? About to turn seven, I suppose_. The idea made her sick, but it was the only way.

Finding Steven wouldn't be a huge problem. She had, of course, covered the 1995 story and Tommy had told her some things as well. She had notes on it somewhere. 

She riffled through her papers and at last came to a folder labeled, "1995 Murders". She opened it and found Steven's profile. There it was, the name of the orphanage. 

"St. Francis' Children's home?" Rosalyn frowned. "God, Tommy, you sent him to a Catholic home?"

Now there was the question of whether or not he was still there. Tommy would probably know the answer to that. He and Kara still kept tabs on the boy every now and then, though Kara sometimes seemed reluctant to do so. Rosalyn had met Kara once or twice and she'd never liked her very much. She'd been very rude and indignant and it seemed to get worse every time they saw each other. At first she told herself it was because Kara had been so bothered by reporters and didn't want another journalist breathing down her neck, so she refrained from talking about Steven and Smith Grove altogether. It still didn't help. Kara didn't like her and that's all there was to it. Pity. She seemed like such a nice person the way Tommy talked about her. 

The phone rang, interrupting her train of thought. "Hello," she answered as she resumed going through her papers with the receiver on her shoulder. 

"I know who you are and I know what you're trying to do."

Rosalyn froze. She took the phone back in her hand and shakily demanded, "Who is this?"

"I see your little scheme. So if I were you, I would just put that file away and get on with the rest of my life. This has nothing to do with you."

"This has more to do with me than you think," Rosalyn said through clenched teeth. There was a chuckle on the other end of the line. 

"Rosalyn, Rosalyn. I remember you, Ms. McLeod. Still sticking your nose where it doesn't belong after all these years? I thought you would have learned your lesson by now. But no- you're still the naive little half-bake you always were and always will be."

Rosalyn couldn't think of anything to say. Who was this person? How did he know her?

"Put the file away, Ms. McLeod."

"Go to hell." Rosalyn slammed the phone back down in its cradle. How dare he threaten her? Just then her rational thought kicked in. She looked around. Someone was watching her. She hurried over to the windows and pulled down the shades. She turned off all of the lights and waited.

She jumped when the phone rang again. "H- hello?"

"Ros? Hey it's me."

"Oh, Tom hi," she said relieved.

"You okay?"

She took a deep breath. "Sure, I'm fine." She happened to glance across the room at one of the now shaded windows just as a shadow passed over it. "Oh my god! Tommy, I'm _not_ okay. Someone is watching me. I just got a strange phone call and I think I just saw someone- "

"Stay put. I'll be right over."

Rosalyn hung up the phone and huddled on the floor in the corner. She hadn't heard or seen anything more, but she still tried to make herself scarce. Just when she began to relax, there was a crash and a hailstorm of glass rained down over her head. Through the downpour she caught a glimpse of a hand reaching from the window above her head. She scurried away from it into the middle of the room, screaming louder than she ever knew she could.

"Rosalyn!" Tommy was there! At the sound of his voice, the hand disappeared from the window. 

Whimpering and sniffling, Rosalyn stood and hurried to the door. She threw it open and rushed into Tommy's arms. He tried to understand through her sobs what had happened. 

"He's here! He tried to kill me! The man on the phone threatened me and then _he_ came and he tried to grab me and- "

"Hold on, Ros. Slow down. Okay, maybe you should come back to my place."

Rosalyn agreed and they hurried back to Tommy's, apparently oblivious to the dark figure watching them both from the shadows. Without warning, it began to rain.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Wynn," Tommy said conclusively. He looked at Rosalyn. "It's the only person it could be. He's the only person who would know about your history at Smith Grove." There he went with that history stuff again. He bit his lip.

"I thought you said he was dead," Rosalyn grumbled.

"I said no one had heard from him in years, so he could be dead. But he's the only person Michael would ever listen to- to an extent anyway. Wynn thought he had power over him and probably still thinks that. Really, Michael just used him to get to his family. Wynn led him to Jamie and practically tried to hand his son to him. Now he'll probably try to get Steven back to pass along the curse. I should probably call Kara and warn her to keep an eye on Danny."

This is my chance, Rosalyn thought. "Tom, about Steven Lloyd. Was he ever adopted?"

"Yeah by a family just outside of Santa Mira- the Hawkins I think." Tommy paused. "Why?"

"I was just wondering. Do you think Wynn could find him?"

Tommy shrugged. "He found Jamie easy enough."

"Did they have any other kids?"

"The Hawkins?" He thought. "No, I don't think so. That's why they were so eager to adopt." 

Rosalyn felt a pang of guilt. _Why should you feel guilty? It's not your fault. It's just the way it has to be._

Her thought was interrupted when someone knocked on the door. 

Rosalyn's thoughts raced. He followed me. He's come to kill me and Tommy. Oh God, please- I don't want to die. 

The knocks became more insistent and finally Tommy moved. 

"Tommy," Rosalyn whimpered.

"It's all right, Ros." Tommy opened the door and was confronted by a young man who looked to be in his early twenties. The rain had soaked his hair and clothes and he looked very tired. He leaned in on the doorframe and looked at Tommy.

"You Tommy Doyle?"

Tommy nodded. "And you are?"

The stranger straightened. "My name is John Tate. I'm Laurie Strode's son. I understand you tried to help my half-sister."

Tommy and Rosalyn just sat there gaping. John Tate? _The_ John Tate? It was almost like meeting a celebrity in a morbid sort of way.

After another minute of standing out in the rain, John looked around. "Can I come in?"

"Oh, sure. Sorry." Tommy motioned for him to come in and took his coat.

~*~

"So let me get this straight," John said tiredly, leaning forward heavily on the couch. "I have a nephew in Warren County, but he's not just my nephew. He's my cousin too, because he's not just my half-sister's son, he's also my uncle's?"

Jerry! Jerry! Jerry! Rosalyn stifled a snort.

"Yep."

John shook his head, apparently accepting the fact, uncouth as it was. "All right, now why do I care?"

Tommy looked at him like he was crazy. "Haven't you noticed your uncle's little habit of killing off your family? I mean after all this time you think you would have found some sort of pattern here! Haven't you ever wondered _why_? After he finds his son, do you know who he'll come after next?" He stopped and stared John in the eyes. The young man looked away.

The room was silent. John let it hang for a minute before finally speaking. "So how do we stop him?" His voice was shaking.

Tommy let out a deep sigh. "I don't know."

John stood suddenly. "You don't know. You don't know?! That sick son of a bitch is still out there with some freak-show obsession with killing my family- _including me_ -and you don't know?! He's been out there for over twenty-five years! Isn't there any way to stop him?!"

Tommy just looked back at him helplessly.

John threw up his hands. "Fine. Right. You don't know." He sat back down, but gave a final wide gesture with his hands. "Then what the fuck am I doing here?!"

"The only way Michael will stop is if his family line is terminated," Rosalyn piped up. 

John looked at her apprehensively, narrowing his eyes. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that's the only way he'll ever stop." Rosalyn said simply, looking back at him as if saying 'don't make me tell you again because I know that you know what I mean'. 

John swallowed hard. "So, basically what you are saying is I'm screwed for the rest of my life."

"No," Tommy said calmly. "We're not giving in that easily. I can get you a connection with a new witness protection program. You could- "

"That's no good." John was looking at the floor. "We tried that once before, remember? He still found us. He didn't even know what the hell I looked like and he had no trouble singling me out."

It was quiet for a long time after that. Finally, Tommy spoke. 

"Well, we're not getting anything done tonight. We'll figure something out. Do you need a place to stay?" He looked at John whose head was in his hands.

"Huh? Uh- yeah. I'd appreciate it."

Tommy turned to Rosalyn. "I think you'd better stay the night too, Ros. 

"Thanks, Tom," she smiled. 

He didn't like that smile. It was the smile that meant she was up to something. He let it go though. "Come on, John. I'll get you set up." He said, trying to ignore it. 

But even later as he drifted off to sleep that night, his thoughts dwelled on Rosalyn. She'd always been curious about Michael Myers and the Halloween murders, but now it seemed different. And that smile- there was something in that smile…

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Rosalyn pulled up to the huge house and peered out through her car window. She could just barely make out the number on the mailbox. 224- Hawkins. This was it.

_Steven Hawkins_, Rosalyn thought. _Sounds weird_. _You'll always be Steven Lloyd to me._

She yawned and stretched. Now that she saw where the house was she could go back. There was nothing she could do tonight until she came up with some kind of plan. She shifted the car back into gear. It stalled.

"God damn it!" She turned the key again and the engine sputtered to life. "I hate this car," she muttered to herself.

Suddenly white light flooded her vision, blinding her temporarily. After a second it dimmed a little. _Headlights_, Rosalyn thought, panicked. She put on the gas and pulled easily into the driveway next door. _I hope no one's home_, she thought as she shut off her own headlights. She watched as a black car pulled up in front of the Hawkins house. The driver shut off the car and sat there.

_That must be Wynn._ Rosalyn gasped as it hit her_. He's here for Steven!_

She waited a minute more before making a decision. Wynn couldn't get to Steven if she could get to him first. She snuck out of the car, shutting the door quietly behind her. The yard around the house was lined with thick shrubs and she followed these around the back until she was well out of sight of the car. She stepped out of the bushes and checked out the house. She spotted an upstairs room with a model airplane in the window. She smiled. _Steven's room._

The ground was damp beneath her fingers as she felt for a pebble. Finally she found one and tossed it up at the window. After the third round of pebble throwing, a light finally came on in the room. Rosalyn darted back into the bushes and watched as a little boy with dirty-blonde hair came to the window.

_He looks just like his father did at that age_, Rosalyn thought fondly. 

The boy gave up looking and disappeared from the window. The light went back out. Rosalyn crept back out and started throwing pebbles again. She hurried back to the bushes when the light came back on again in the little boy's room.

_Come out and play, Steven._ Rosalyn grinned.

Up in his room, Steven was rubbing his eyes. _Who keeps tapping my window?_ He went to the window again, opened it and looked out. He gasped when he saw the bushes move. "Rocky?" The German Shepherd pup had run off a few days ago and he'd been very worried. Was this him? Steven decided to find out. "Hang on boy, I'm coming out," he said and shut the window.

A minute or two later, Rosalyn heard a door open. Steven stepped out into the moonlight.

"Rocky," he called softly. He pulled his jacket closer and called again. 

Rosalyn watched the boy intently, wondering how she could capture him or trick him into coming with her. Suddenly, her gaze was replaced by an expression of shock as her eyes widened and she froze. 

Steven sighed disappointedly. The dog just wasn't coming. Sadly, he turned to go back into the house and ran face-first into someone. His eyes followed the body up to the ghostly white face of a mask. Stunned, he watched as the figure's head tipped a little as it looked at him.

The little boy turned tail and ran as fast as he could, not recognizing his own bloodcurdling screams. 

_He's getting away!_ Rosalyn jumped out of the bush and grabbed the boy. He fought her tooth and nail, but she managed to hold him where he was. She spun him around. "Say hello to your father!" she said, grinning wickedly at the Shape in front of her.

Steven gasped when he saw the glint of a blade. "Mom! Dad! Help m- " 

His words were cut off when Rosalyn cupped her hand over his mouth. He responded by biting down hard on her thumb. She shrieked and let go.

"Steven?" A call came from inside the house and the light came back on in Steven's room. Rosalyn looked around frantically. 

The Shape was advancing on Steven. She saw the boy run blindly up the steep bank past the bushes. 

_I don't have time to get him now. I've blown it. I'll have to think of something else_, Rosalyn thought and ducked into the bushes again. When she made it to the front of the house she noticed that the black car was gone. 

When the Shape reached the top of the bank he saw nothing. There was nowhere to hide except for an old wishing well. There was a creaking noise coming from inside. He reached it and looked over the edge.

Steven peered up at him from the bucket. His hands were clenched together and he was muttering under his breath:

"Haila Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Haila Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our deaths. Amen. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom and the power, and the glory forever and ever. Amen." 

The Shape slashed downward, but the boy had lowered himself just out of reach of the blade. Frustrated he began to chop at the thick rope. Every chop drew a shriek from Steven, who by then had stopped praying- at least out loud. But, he realized, he couldn't just sit there.

__

He's my dad? My real dad? Why would he do this? 

The rope was dangerously frayed by now. The Shape heaved as he gave another chop.

"Dad?" The call echoed through the well.

Michael stopped mid-swing.

Steven peered up at him from the bucket. "You're- you're my real dad?"

He lowered the knife and looked down at Steven.

There was a snap as a fiber broke in the rope. Steven reached out to him. "Help me. Please, Dad. Don't let me die," he pleaded tearfully. The rope creaked.

Michael looked around and then looked back down at him. He seemed confused. 

Finally the rope couldn't hold out any longer. There was another loud snap and the bucket began to fall. Steven clenched his eyes shut and screamed, waiting to drown in the murky cold water of the well. He waited for the impact, but it didn't come. He opened his eyes. 

Michael was bent forward over the edge of the well. One hand held the tattered end of the rope. Steven looked up into his father's eyes. Was he crying? Steven saw a glimmer of hope, but in an instant it was gone. Michael blinked and the Shape returned. The cold pitiless glare came again. He released his grip on the rope and watched the bucket fall until it was too dark to see. A splash put an end to the boy's screams. 

Michael shook his head. For several moments he appeared to reach down into the darkness of the well, searching for something he couldn't see anymore. It was too late. He gave one last long look at the well before picking up the knife and, exhausted, staggering off into the night.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Wynn wandered the halls of the Sanitarium, trying to sort things out in his mind. He was livid. They been so close, but then Michael had jumped the gun and killed Steven. Now what? They'd have to wait for another opportunity. And neither of them were exactly young anymore. What if Wynn wasn't around the next time an opportunity arose? 

Why wouldn't Michael listen to him? Why wouldn't he _obey_? He shivered at the possibility that he might be losing control of him again. He remembered what happened last time.

But he'd helped Michael. He'd taken care of him. Not even a year a go he'd brought him back here after the fire. He'd been in bad shape then. Areas of his skin had been charred straight through to the bone. And the mask- the latex had melted into his skin. 

He still remembered the screams- those God awful agonized screams as the mask was scraped, peeled and cut from his face. It had taken cuffs, shackles, and chains- chains -to hold him down for the procedure. 

But for all the powers and strength he possessed, he was growing weaker. In 1995, he'd been at the height of his power. Why? Jamie Lloyd, Steven Doyle, and Laurie Strode, who was in hiding at that point with her son John Tate. They fueled his power. Now, with the strongest link, Steven, gone and only one member of his family left, Wynn wondered just how much power remained- and what effects it was having on him now that it was subsiding.

~*~

Rosalyn couldn't sleep. She'd tossed and turned most of the night before finally, tired and frustrated, she got up. A tune she didn't recognize drifted to her ears from the radio. It sounded like Shawn Colvin. She wondered if it would help to shut it off, but it was always on and she didn't think she could stand it being off. The house could be so silent sometimes. 

She paced around the room a bit, listening to the radio playing, before going downstairs to the study and situating herself at her desk with a book.

After another minute she let out an exasperated sigh and rubbed her eyes. How could she read at a time like this? But then, what else could she do?

She shook her head and stood. Nothing, she thought as she switched off the light. Her best bet was to just go back to bed and try to get some sleep. She'd talk to Tommy in the morning.

That thought settled her a little and she yawned as she headed back upstairs. Back in her room, she stood at the window and looked across the street. Diagonal from hers was the old abandoned house that the local kids referred to as the "spook house," the Myers house. Was Michael there now? Was he with Wynn? Probably not. Wynn wouldn't be happy with Michael right now. He needed Steven, but now, she guessed, Steven was no more.

Lost in thought, she didn't seem to notice faint footsteps coming up the stairs, or that unmistakable sound of another person's breathing- even when it was right behind her. She didn't notice until an arm wrapped around her shoulders. A glimmering blade shone in the moonlight from the window. The blade came to rest against her neck, drawing a small whimper from the back of her throat. She stiffened at the thought of that sharpened cold steel dragging across it, but something made her stop.

"Michael," she said softly, still afraid to move. But his breathing, she noticed, was ragged. He sounded almost strangled. Something warm and wet dripped onto her bare shoulder. 

He's crying! Rosalyn touched his hand and his grip loosened on the knife. She took it and relaxed a little as she dropped it on the dresser, but when she touched his hand again, it was as if something snapped.

The Shape made a sound almost like a growl- but definitely not a growl. It couldn't be explained, but it didn't sound good. He spun Rosalyn around and gripped her hard by the wrists. He backed her up to the window and her eyes widened fearfully.

He's going to push me out the window! He can't- the window's closed. Then it occurred to her that he didn't care if it was closed. She'd be going through it if that was the intention of her assailant. This was it. She was done for, but instead of giving up, she panicked and without a rational thought in her mind, did the only thing she could come up with at that point.

She kissed him.

For a minute Michael didn't move, but then he threw her off. She landed on her bed and watched fearfully as he picked up the knife from the dresser and stalked toward her. He was between her and the only exit from her room. She was trapped. Just about paralyzed with fear, she watched as the Shape stopped by the bed and raised the knife. 

"Michael," she whimpered. "I'm sorry. Please stop. You don't want to do this. You don't have to do this."

Unexpectedly, he stopped. He shook his head and looked at Rosalyn laying helplessly terrified on the bed. He dropped the knife. 

Rosalyn stared wide-eyed as Michael crawled up on the bed with her. Slowly he bent down and tried to kiss her through the mask. Shocked but also surprised, she reacted. _All right, if that's the way he wants it_, she thought gleefully as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She pushed him over onto his back. Before she did anything else, she reached down and pulled off his mask. He let her this time, without defiance. "It's been years, Michael. I missed you," she smiled. On the radio, Cyndi Lauper's "All Through The Night" began playing softly.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Rosalyn drifted dazedly out of sleep. Her alarm clock was blaring loudly next to her bed and she reached out and smacked the off button. She dragged herself out of bed and proceeded to get ready for work. She was sore everywhere and at first she couldn't think of why. She considered calling in sick, but soon abandoned the thought when she remembered the exact reason she felt that way. _Oh_, she thought with a grin_. Never mind. I'll go to work. That would make an interesting excuse though. I can just see the little yellow Post-it note stuck to the boss' desk, "Rosalyn McLeod can't come in to work today. Excuse: too sore from romp the previous night."_ She giggled to herself as she picked up the paper, but she stopped when she saw the headline:

****

LOCAL BOY DROWNED IN WELL...

TRAGEDY OR HOMICIDE?

Rosalyn's breath caught in her throat. She read on and confirmed. Yes. Steven Lloyd was dead. He'd been drowned in an old well. At first it was thought that he was playing in the well and the rope snapped, but given the fact that he'd been out in the middle of the night, the screams for help, not to mention that upon inspection of the fibers in the rope it was found to have been cut, it was becoming increasingly clear that this was no accident. 

__

Smart cops, Rosalyn thought sarcastically. She scoffed. Of course Michael had done it. She couldn't believe it. Well, actually she could, but she hadn't meant for it to be like this. Not yet anyway. 

__

A well? She shuddered at the thought. Drowning was an awful way to die. Hopefully he died on impact. It was a terrible thought, but it was better than struggling in the dark, cold water until you had no strength left and eventually went under. At least that's the way she saw it. 

_It was inevitable anyway_, she thought. _There's only one left now. One more and then Michael will be free. We'll be free- together._ The thought made her smile a little despite the dreadful acts necessary to bring it about. She put the paper in the trash and headed off to work.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"Michael! What do you think you are _doing_?"

The Shape didn't move. He stood rigidly, his black hole-like eyes staring down at the floor. As always, he said nothing.

Dr. Terrance Wynn began to pace. "You've done enough to jeopardize my plans. I waited long enough for that crazy doctor, Sam Loomis to die. Now that he's out of the way, we can't afford any more distractions." He sighed heavily. "I forbid you from seeing her again." He eyed the stoic figure in the corner, watching for a response. 

The mask shifted a little and the doctor heard a rebellious huff.

Wynn flew into a whirlwind. He charged at the Shape, pushing him until he slammed into the wall behind him. Even so, he barely flinched. 

"God damn it, now you listen to me," Wynn hissed. "If I catch you with that little whore again you will both pay- with her blood!" 

Now it was Michael's turn. The Shape sprang into action, putting all of his super-human strength into prying Wynn off and pushing him backwards until he crashed over a table, landing flat on his back. Michael pounced on him, wrapping his fingers around the elderly man's throat.

"Michael!" Wynn strained. He was getting too old for this. "Michael, stop!" He looked past the eyeholes of the blank emotionless mask, into the narrowed flashing eyes as the grip around his throat grew tighter. 

"She doesn't- love you- Michael," he managed. His vision was blurring and things were beginning to grow dim. 

Suddenly, Michael released him. He leaned back on his knees like a cat sitting back on its haunches. The black eyeholes were once again directed at the floor. Wynn saw his chance. 

"Aw, well of course she doesn't care for you- like I do." He smiled warmly as Michael looked up, the flash from the dark eyeholes now reduced to dim shadows. _You're going soft, old boy. You should have killed me when you had the chance._ Wynn cleared his throat. "You are the son I never had, and I love you as if you were my own, but sons must trust their fathers- obey them. It's time for you to trust me, Michael." His smile grew eerily sinister. "Just a little longer," he purred. "We'll wait a little longer."

~*~


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Three rings, four rings, five... and then- "Hello, we are not available now. Please leave your name and number after the beep," the computerized voice droned. Rosalyn had always been too lazy to record her own outgoing message. 

"Rosalyn, this is Jonah."

"Oh, no." She cringed at the name. Jonah was her boss. "It's been three days now with no word from you. We're getting worried, Ms. Mc_Lee-ahd_."

Rosalyn scoffed. Sure you are. "It's pronounced Mc_Cloud_," she corrected the machine.

_Rosalyn McLeod, that dark Irish lass. Who cares? No one misses me, she thought bitterly and rolled over in bed._ "No one," she said aloud. The sound of her own voice hung in the silence for a moment. Abruptly, her thoughts turned to Michael.

She hadn't seen her masked avenger in over a week. The thought had occurred to her that he'd come while she was at work. So she stayed home for a day. Now she wondered if he was ever coming back at all. It was this awful, lingering thought that had kept her in bed for the remaining two days. What if something had happened to him? Impossible. Nothing could stop Michael Myers. Maybe he just- didn't want her- anymore. Maybe he was tired of her. Maybe- 

Tears were streaming down her face now. Didn't he understand why she was trying to help him? Didn't he care? But why should he? She was nothing- to him or anyone else. Rosalyn McLeod was nothing. 

Nothing.

Rosalyn woke up three hours later. It was dark outside now. Her mouth was terribly dry and her head was pounding. She got up and, tripping and stumbling all the way, found the Advil. She popped two of the small tablets into her mouth and followed them with two glasses of water. _I'll bet I'm dehydrated_. She was about to fill the glass again when she heard a noise outside that made her jump. It was sort of a rustle and then a metallic clang. She sat listening a second before bolting for the door. 

"Michael? Michael!" She bounded down the stairs and ran around the side of the house. "Michael, please come out!" She stopped. 

Sable came slinking out of the shadows. She looked up at Rosalyn with her goldenrod eyes and mewed questioningly. Rosalyn stood stunned as the black cat weaved itself around her legs. "You're losing your mind again, you crazy little girl," she accused herself. "Foolish little girl," she continued as she walked back to the house in a daze. "He's not coming back. Why would he come back to you, little girl?" She kept going, completely oblivious to the dark figure half-concealed in the brush.

When she got inside, she collapsed on the floor in front of the door and bawled like a baby. "Come back, Michael! Come back! Please come back Michael," she cried over and over. She stood up and looked out the window. "No?" She couldn't take it anymore. She grabbed her keys off the stand by the door. Then, she opened the door and headed for the car, not caring that she was barefoot and in her nightgown. "He'll never come back- never." She got in the car. "Never come back- never." She jiggled the key in the ignition and sped away from the house. "Never come back- never come back," she repeated as she drove. Suddenly, she hit the brakes and the car screeched to a stop. She'd arrived and she was ready. She stepped out of the car and moved to the edge of the bridge. She climbed up on to the guardrail and looked down into the deep, dark water. The metal was cold on her feet and she nearly lost her balance. For a moment, the whole world was dark and cold. For a moment, as she looked down, Rosalyn felt almost- afraid. Then everything came crashing back to her- the reality, threatening to crush her. _Michael- lose my job- who cares? ** NO ONE!**_

Rosalyn jumped.

The water was cold and her body jolted when she hit. As her lungs began to take on water, she began to sink into the dark. She couldn't see a thing. Something brushed her hand. Then a hand grabbed her and pulled. _No! Let me die!_ It let go of her almost on command but then an arm wrapped around her waist. They made it to the surface and some of the water forced its way out of her lungs. She choked on it and gasped for air. Who was this intruder? She struggled angrily, even as she was pulled to shore. Once on land, her rescuer let go. 

"No!" Rosalyn turned from her rescuer. She choked on water and was sent into a coughing fit. "No! I don't want to breathe! Just let me go!" A hand touched her soaked hair. She shivered and slapped it away. "Leave me alone," she snapped. Why doesn't this person say anything? She gasped. _Would he- ?_

She turned her head and slowly looked over her shoulder. There sat Michael. He tilted his head quizzically and held out his arms.

Rosalyn was shocked. "Michael? Michael!" She squealed happily and threw her arms around him. She looked up and watched as he took a finger and put it to the lips of the mask in an effort to quiet her. She was getting dizzy. She felt almost drunk. She smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you, Michael Myers." Then she kissed the rubber mask and fainted. 

Michael looked down on her unconscious body. He looked around. He didn't see anyone, so he picked up his knife. He knew what he had to do.

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

The bright morning sunlight filtered in through the curtains onto Rosalyn's bed. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around. Saturday! No work today! She sat up and smiled to herself as she stretched luxuriously. Her nightgown was still a little damp, the last fading evidence of last night's breakdown. She threw her robe on over it and went out to feed Sable. Outside a neighbor was singing and Rosalyn recognized the British accent. She turned and smiled at an older woman in her mid-fifties sweeping off her porch. 

"Good morning, Mrs. Hoover!" 

"Well, well- someone sure is chipper this morning," she sneered. "Does it have anything to do with that tall, dark, and handsome that was carrying you up the stairs last night?"

"What?" _He carried me._ She blushed.

"You know, coveralls, looked a little pale..."

Pale? Rosalyn thanked her lucky stars for such dense neighbors. "Oh, him." Her smile grew wider. "Maybe."

"Aha! I knew it! He takes care of you, he does. Don't let that one get away- even if he is just a mechanic." She winked.

"I wouldn't dare," Rosalyn promised, as much to herself as to her neighbor. Then a thought came to her. She smiled. "Happy Halloween Mrs. Hoover." 

~*~

John stood at the door. This was it. A fight to the finish. It would all end tonight one way or another. Somehow he knew Michael was in there waiting for him. Was his uncle thinking the same thing? _If he's capable of human thought_, John thought, _I'll bet he fucking well is_. He extended a shaking hand and turned the doorknob. As quietly as he could he stepped into the house, firmly grasping the baseball bat he'd brought with him. He didn't notice the door swinging slowly shut behind him, or the looming shadow behind it. All of a sudden he felt something pounce on him from behind. A strong pair of hands wrapped around his throat. John thought fast and thrust the bat behind him and into the stomach of his attacker. He heard a whoosh of air as the wind was knocked from the figure. He spun around to confront him and was not surprised to see the Shape, staggered but in no way finished. 

Rosalyn had crept in through the back door. She knew where John had gone this Halloween night and she knew precisely what he was going to try. _This could get interesting_, she thought amusedly. _If the boy thinks he has a chance, let him try_.

Now the Shape came charging after John again. There was a faint glimmer in the dark as Michael pulled the knife out of his pocket. 

"Come on, Uncle Mikey," John taunted. "Give me your best shot." 

Michael continued to advance, but at the last second, John swung the bat at his wrist, knocking the knife across the room. Michael watched it fly, then turned back to John.

"Not so tough now huh? Come on! Come get some a' this!" John was raving like a lunatic, but still Michael pressed forward. With or without the knife, he intended on finishing this once and for all. 

John swung the bat again, but this time Michael caught it with one hand. With the other he reached out and grasped John's throat. John strained and pulled at the Shape's hand before finally, his eyes closed and he went limp. His hands fell limply at his sides. 

Michael tipped his head to the side and surveyed John's motionless figure before dropping him carelessly.

"Michael!" He turned to see Rosalyn emerge from the shadows. "You did it!" she squealed happily. He started toward her, but then suddenly the smile vanished from her face and she pointed behind him. "Look out!" But it was too late. John rose up and swung the bat one final time. There was a sickening _crack_ as the bat connected with the side of the Shape's head. He collapsed in a heap on the floor. Seeing his exits were blocked, John made a dash for the stairs.

Rosalyn saw the Shape was down and darted up the stairs after John. She caught up to him halfway up and grabbed him by the hair. She whipped around, holding him there. She was stronger than she looked, demonstrating by twisting John's arm behind his back at a painful angle while keeping a strong hold on the young man's hair. 

Michael had recovered and was already on his way up the stairs. 

"Here he is!" Rosalyn screamed. "Take him! He's yours!"

"No!" John cried and jerked his head backward, hitting Rosalyn in the nose and snapping her head back. She slumped down on the step while John took off. The last thing she felt was a warm trickle of blood run from her nose before she lost consciousness.

Michael reached her and bent over her. He touched her face and saw the blood on his fingers. He shifted his eyes to the top of the staircase- at John. 

John stared back. "Oh shit."

The Shape straightened and started up the stairs toward him. John couldn't move. There was no where to go. But he realized he had to run anyway and finally dashed into an empty room.

Michael followed. He opened the door and surveyed the room, but John was nowhere in site. He stepped into the room. Suddenly the door slammed shut behind him and John came out from behind it wielding his baseball bat. He struck Michael across the back, knocking him down again. He made for the door but Michael's hand shot out and grabbed his ankle. He toppled backwards on top of the Shape but quickly rolled off. He spotted the bat and snatched it. Gripping it tightly at both ends, he watched as Michael slowly stood. He was ready. He charged at him and held up the bat as a block, hoping to clothesline him. 

Michael caught it easily in both hands. He began walking, pushing John backwards. Before he realized it, he'd been backed up to the window. Michael gave one final push. All this time he'd been waiting- he would finally be set free. 

The impact from John's body shattered the window, but as he started to fall, he grabbed the front of Michael's coveralls. He squeezed so tightly that his fingernails dug into the skin underneath the cloth.

"You're coming with me you son of a bitch!" John screamed.

Michael pulled at his hand, but it was too late. They fell together, almost in slow motion. They hadn't remembered the fence- didn't see it until they felt the cold metal pierce their skin. They stuck there, impaled on the rusty, twisted wrought iron sharpened to gothic-style points, their blood running down in distorted red rivers. 

A scream sliced through the night. Rosalyn ran to Michael's side crying hysterically. "Michael," she whimpered, "Michael you can't die now!"

She heard a sharp intake of breath and Michael jarred himself awake. His whole body shivered and he winced when he moved. He looked at the body impaled on the fence beside him. The last of the bloodline dead, his task was complete. It was almost as if he'd awoke just to make sure he was finished.

Rosalyn looked at him helplessly. She hoped he would bounce back from this like he had before, but in her heart she knew that his resilience had always been fueled by that power- the power that was fading now. 

He reached out and touched her cheek, streaking it with blood- his blood. As his black eyes looked into hers, Rosalyn understood that the doctor- Dr. Loomis- had been wrong. The human part of him wasn't dead. It just wasn't strong enough to contend with the curse of Thorn. Their love had strengthened his soul, but in the end, _Thurisaz_ had been too powerful and it destroyed him. Now with his last bits of strength he put his hand to her abdomen and looked up at her. 

"What? What are you trying to tell me?" 

Michael tipped his head quizzically as if saying 'don't you know?'

"I- I don't understand. What-" She gasped and thought back. The tears came flooding back and she cried harder. "Don't leave me," she whimpered. "Don't leave me all alone with your baby!" 

He cupped his hand around her cheek and touched her lips. She bent down to kiss him, but he pulled back. He pawed at the mask but couldn't quite seem to grasp it. 

"Here let me help you," Rosalyn sniffed and pulled the mask over his head. She looked down on his face. He still bore the scars from the fire, but she still recognized him- the dark determined boy who broke her out of her cell at Smith's Grove. She'd loved him ever since, but now she had to let go again.

Their lips touched and Rosalyn prayed it would never end. She wasn't ready to let go. She couldn't. When they finally did part, she watched in agony as he breathed his last and closed his eyes, finally able to rest in peace. "No- no!" Rosalyn tried to say, but it came out as a sob. Finally she couldn't hold it in any longer and she broke down. She didn't know how long she cried before she stopped suddenly, almost eerily calm. A strangely warm breeze had picked up, blowing through her hair. She was almost certain she heard a faint voice on the wind. It seemed to call her name. 'I love you,' it whispered. She looked up toward the voice- faced the wind. 

"Michael," she whispered softly, closing her eyes. She glanced down at her midsection. She had to prepare. She had to be ready for their unborn child- Michael's and hers. 

TO BE CONTINUED...

~*~


	12. Chaoter 12

Chapter 12

The police arrived soon after. A distressed neighbor had made a call about violent screaming and crying coming from across the street. The neighbor, a middle-aged man, was talking with an officer on the sidewalk. He seemed upset and kept trying to get by the officer to get a look at the bodies.

"That's Michael Myers! You have to believe me, it's him!"

"All right, sir. You have to calm down. Come with me and you can identify him later."

This will be the second time we've brought Myers in, another officer thought. But this time there was no doubt in his mind that Michael Myers had seen his last Halloween. They had seen some awful things, but no matter how many times it happened, it still didn't get any easier. The ghastly sight they met tonight was no exception. 

As they began pulling the bodies off the fence, the officer ran off. He couldn't handle this. He'd seen the face of the bloodied man in the coveralls and noted the sort of half-smile on his face. It was sick. It was too much. He stopped to catch his breath, leaning on a nearby tree and trying to keep his supper down. It was then he noticed her- a dark-haired woman watching him from the shadows. He couldn't get a good look at her face but there was something he didn't like about her. He edged away from the tree and turned back to the others. He looked over his shoulder once more, but she was gone. He wondered if he was going crazy and when he reached the rest of the group he asked them whether or not they'd seen the woman. No one had.

~*~

She walked, almost marched, with determined resolution. She didn't know where she would go. _Someplace quiet_, she thought and ran her hand over her midsection_. Someplace- unsuspecting._ Her life held a new purpose now. As she continued on, she pulled the white mask over her face. She had a quick stop to make along the way.

TO BE CONTINUED…

~*~


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Tommy sauntered solemnly in from the night and looked around. In the living room he turned on the TV just in time to catch a news bulletin. The reporter's face was ghostly pale and sweat beads glistened on his forehead. 

"I'm here at 45 Lampkin Lane with the Haddonfield Police Department where two bodies were discovered just a short while ago. The bodies, two men, where found impaled on a fence after theoretically crashing from a two-story window. Though the younger of the two men remains unidentified, the older is believed to be the infamous Michael Myers. Both have been officially pronounced dead by the coroner and identification is still pending." 

The reporter suddenly began fidgeting with his earpiece. His eyes widened for an instant before he turned back to the camera. "This just in," he said shakily. "Dr. Terrence Wynn, a retired Smith Grove psychiatrist was found stabbed to death in his home just a few short miles from here. Though the two do not seem to be connected, investigators have been ordered to examine both scenes for any clue that could link the two cases."

Tommy watched a little longer before switching off the television. Rosalyn wasn't home when he checked for her. Part of him knew she wouldn't be, but another part hoped she was. He didn't want to lose another person to _him_. But he'd been too late. She was already gone. He'd missed her at the Myers house too. She'd managed to stay one step ahead of him all night. 

For a second he considered reporting her missing. His hand hovered above the telephone for a second before he dropped it. There was no saving her. This was out of his hands. He sighed, defeated. Slowly he stood and trudged toward the stairs. Michael had worked in the last blow after all. 

FIN


	14. Rosalyn's Patient Profile

****

Smith Grove-Warren County Sanitarium Medical Patient Profile

Medical Patient: McLeod, Rosalyn Lenore

****

Date of Birth: Tuesday November 19, 1957

****

Place of Birth: Haddonfield Memorial Hospital, Haddonfield, Illinois USA

****

Date first committed to Smith Grove: Monday October 28, 1963

****

Age when first committed: 5

****

Height when first committed: 3' 2"

****

Weight when first committed: 85 lb.

****

Hair: Black

****

Eyes: Green

****

Skin: Olive

****

Nationality: Irish-American

****

Reason for being committed: Periods showing OCD and Maniacal habits

****

Doctor: Dr. Terrance Wynn

****

Legal guardian(s) till release: Father- McLeod, Loren and Mother- McLeod, Maureen

****

Doctor's notes:

Has off and on days; can go from being only slightly obsessive and single-minded (as children often are at that age) to the point of severe mania; patient can slip into weeks of concentration where she eats and drinks very little unless forced. Otherwise very curious about others and her environment that normally overrides her somewhat introverted ideals.

Date of release: November 19, 1978


	15. Soundtrack

Soundtrack:

1.) The Shape - Slipknot

*HIS theme*

2.) Sonny Came Home - Shawn Colvin

*Something to think about... Is this song more like Michael or more like Rosalyn?*

3.) The Rage To Overcome - Machine Head 

*The lyrics just about sum up Michael's state of mind...*

4.) Mania - Babel Fish

*Rosalyn's theme*

5.) All Through The Night - Cyndi Lauper

*Well erm- you know the significance of this song...*

6.) The Doctor Is Calling - Megadeth

*Michael is confused- Should he stick with Wynn or stay with Rosalyn?*

7.) Insensitive - Jann Arden

*Rosalyn's breakdown period - Michael has deserted her*

8.) Crash And Burn - Savage Garden

*After the breakdown, Michael saves Rosalyn*

9.) Tainted Love - Marilyn Manson

*Michael and Rosalyn*

10.) Pass Out Of Existence - Chimaira

*Showdown: John vs. The Shape*

11.) Revelation (Angel Of Death) - Manowar

*Just a great ending song!*

~*~A/N: Yes, I actually burned this and no I don't have anything better to do than make up soundtracks to movies that don't even exist.~*~


End file.
